I haven’t showered in days, it’s silly. I don’t want to wash the ocean from my hair yet, the specific moonlight from my skin. I want to soak in it, absorb it all. I keep asking myself: did you pay close enough attention? Are these things recorded well enough in the pages of your body? Are they true? Will they stand passing time and all its treachery? And will they matter they way you want them to always matter? At the same time I try not to think of them too often, afraid of their fragility. For something to be remembered once, twice, twenty times, it changes. The colors, the light, the way your chest and the tide rose and fell and rose. Details are left out or embellished, the spine of my memory broken, dog-eared, annotated. I think about things too hard sometimes, worry too much. I remind myself that all languages are foreign, everyone is translating. We are allowed some legends in our own life. I am allowed to sigh, to feel in my marrow the incredible coincidence of my existence, the existence of those I love, the existence of everything and I’m allowed to let it go again too. It’s ok if I’m not big enough to hold it all. It takes a universe to even come close.